Hunting Stories
By: Brenda Presnell Do you ever wonder what people who write hunting stories are doing when they’re not writing about hunting and not hunting? If you’re one of those people and your inquisitive mind wants to know, keep reading and I’ll fill ya in.
Here is Max resting after a busy day.
We headed for the door. Max sat obediently waiting for me to open the door. Oops, I forgot to lock the back door. “Come on, Max, let’s go back this way.” Purse fell off my shoulder, snagged on Max’s leash, and hit him on his head! “Sorry, boy.” Grabbed purse, readjusted shoulder strap. Consoled Max. He’s okay. Locked back door. Tried it again. Max was not quite so obedient this next go round. He raced me to the front door. “Sit, boy.” “Hold on, boy.” “Stay, stay!” “Max.” “Max!” “Okay, go ahead.” Max dragged me down the sidewalk, while he lunged forward like a hardy sleigh dog pulling me over the arctic tundra. I stopped at the truck. He didn’t. The leash slipped out of my hand. Max was oblivious to everything but the scent at the end of his beagle nose. The air was cool, the scent was fresh. His tail wagged with delirium. By this time Max had worked himself up to a mild frenzy. He tracked toward the pine tree at the end of the driveway. Then when he curved back around, I was able to grab a hold of him and pulled him off the trail. He started to resist but as I herded him into the truck, he was overcome with new excitement. I’ve noticed that it doesn’t really take too much to make little, ole Max happy. Any activity outdoors will pretty much do it. We got into the truck. Max sat at attention peering out the front window. The trip to the post office went smoothly. Max is the perfect truck dog. He likes to sight-see and minds his manners – no barking, jumping up and down, or slobbering on the seat covers. When we returned home, now that’s another matter all together. I’m glad none of my neighbors appeared to be at home at the time. I have just one question. “Why do dogs think they have to be the first ones out the truck door?” Well, one other question too. “How can a 38 pound beagle move so fast???” I think I glimpsed a red cape as “super dog” flew across my lap and his paws hit the concrete driveway before my door completely opened! I frantically reached for the dog leash (which I hoped was still attached to said beagle), dropped my purse on the ground, while holding the keys between my teeth, and proceeded to close my coat tail in the locked truck door while I stooped down to pick up my stupid purse! I was stuck! Max pulled me on one side while he was tugging to go down the road. My coat tail was stuck in the locked truck door and I couldn’t turn around to put the key in the door lock to open it. Then my dang purse kept falling off my shoulder and boppin’ me in the arm. I have to admit that there was one brief moment when I just didn’t know what to do. When I finally quit laughing and could think straight, I removed my coat, turned around and unlocked the truck door, while hanging on to Max for dear life. Finally, I had things under control. I was pretty proud of myself too when I realized that even though I am now retired, I can still multi-task! Until next time . . . . . . .brenda
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